


at the end of the world

by tencentsmore



Series: into fire and into ice [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Experimentation, Feels, M/M, Slow Burn band-aid style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-12-13 13:49:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11761224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tencentsmore/pseuds/tencentsmore
Summary: He has a chance, and it's untested, unapproved, banned by the village, but at least it's achanceand Tobirama can't give that up.(They won't let him give himself up.)





	at the end of the world

**Author's Note:**

> Triggers are not particularly applicable to non Naruto-verse life, but all warning tags are listed first thing in the endnotes. They _will_ spoil the ending, but please keep yourself safe. (there is NO rape/non-con). Be warned, though, the angsty feels might give you a heart attack. TTnTT

The quill pen digs into Tobirama's hand, leaving angry red marks up his wrist and nearly snapping with how hard he's gripping on to it, forcing out words onto the paper faster than the ink can dry, smudging black everywhere. In the places where it's even slightly legible, there are so many x's and corrections that it's mostly indecipherable to any onlooker.

Tobirama curses, eyes darting back to a previous section in his notes, and scratches out a line. The tiredness around his face hints at too many consecutive nights of sleeplessness, the usual red of his irises surrounded by a puffy pink, and if Hashirama knew he'd force his brother to the hospital in an instant.

But he doesn't notice, or doesn't have the time to care, and it's all the better that he's otherwise occupied in the village and not looking for Tobirama.

He flips the page and debates whether the black splotches on the back are worth grabbing a fresh sheet for, and, after a moment's deliberation, decides that it doesn't matter either way. The haphazard carelessness triggers a thought, and Tobirama can almost hear Madara teasing him.

_What's got you so worked up that 'messy' has become a word in your vocabulary, kitten?_

Their bickering is so familiar that Tobirama can't help himself from snapping right back. _You, obviously. Bastard._

Tobirama's throat tightens, and he keeps scribbling, driving himself to write even faster, think smarter, to do _something_ that'll distract his mind and prevent him from going out and finding someone to strangle. He's exhausted, has been for days, but it's nothing new and Tobirama knows he can push himself further.

_Don't come pouting at me when you're too tired to even walk,_ Madara snickers from the back of his mind. 

A soft snort breaks Tobirama's silence, and it's probably the first sound he's made since he shut himself away in his workspace. _But last time I did it ended very enjoyably,_ he reminds Madara, and even if it's just a voice in his head it's comforting, not being alone.

_If that's what you're suggesting..._ The leer in Madara's low purr is almost _too_ real, and Tobirama very nearly forgets that he's hidden away, working on a secretive jutsu without anyone around. _I'll be happy to indulge, kitten._

_Let me finish this first,_ Tobirama retorts, trying to return his attention back to the endless notes and theories before him. Madara isn't even _there_ , how is it possible that Tobirama can  _still_ get sidetracked? Overexposure to idiots and their stubbornness, he thinks, and curses again under his breath. 

Damn the reckless, hot-headed Uchiha. If it wasn't for _him_ , Tobirama wouldn't _be_ here, breaking village laws and trying not to get caught like a common criminal. Even though he'd taken extensive measures, Mito had known anyways, being a sensor and more perceptive than pretty much everyone else in the village.

He's glad, if a bit selfishly, that she'd been considerate enough not to tell anyone else, _especially_ not a certain overbearing, overprotective _log_ of an older brother. Instead, when she'd caught him red-handed finishing the warding seals to his personal lab, she'd let him off with only a sharp look and a request for the deactivation counter-seals. He'd smiled, attempting sheepish but ending up closer to rueful, and had handed her the two scraps of chakra paper. 

What he hadn't been expecting was the sudden, tight hug and her barely muffled sniffle into his shoulder. At that, he'd squeezed her gently and allowed himself to sigh against her hair. "I left a note for Hashirama," he'd murmured, "will you see that he reads it?" 

Mito had nodded, and with one last glance, pulled away and let him go without a word.

No _good luck_ or _be careful_ , which Tobirama is grateful for.

He knows it's his last chance. His _only_ chance. 

He also knows the jutsu probably won't succeed.

(Certainty makes it much easier than doubt.)

But the risk doesn't stop him from hastily scrawling out the last sentence explaining the jutsu's theoretical foundation and finally, _finally_ grabbing for the blank sealing scroll resting atop various other documents on his desk. 

He has a chance, and it's untested, unapproved, _banned_ by the village elders, but at least it's a _chance_ and Tobirama can't give that up. 

(They won't let him give himself up.)

In complete contrast to his rushed writings, his hand as he draws the special chakra-ink marks on the white paper is steady, strokes clean and precise. They're sure when Tobirama himself is not, laughably easy when the construction of the entire arrangement had taken him four days without break. The black bleeds naturally into the parchment, staining and seeping and _claiming_ , and Tobirama takes a deep breath as he completes the central seal.

_It's not perfect,_  Madara scolds in his ear, but Tobirama ignores him because he's not real, he's not here, he's---

(He's worth it.)

It's not perfect, and Tobirama _knows_ , but it's close enough; it'll be enough.

He places the scroll in the centre of the room and slowly begins to ink in the lines around it, black spiraling outwards only to curl back in again as he traces farther and farther. Ten minutes. Half an hour. Silence. An hour passes and Tobirama finally finishes, exertion flushing his cheeks and quickening his breath. He stops, takes a step back, and admires his work. 

The intricate lines weave and cross, beautifully symmetrical, and though Tobirama should feel proud for finishing perhaps the most ingeniously complex jutsu of his lifetime, there's nothing but emptiness in his chest. 

Madara is still snarking at him. _Such a nerd,_ he says, and Tobirama can _see_ him, mouth quirked in a lopsided half-smile, dark hair draped over his shoulder and face, eyes crinkling with amusement and fondness in equal measure-- so warm, so mischievous, so  _alive_ that Tobirama just wants to pull him in, kiss him over and over again and whisper _I love you_ against his lips until they're both breathless.

He wants _forever_ to be a promise that Madara didn't break.

When he blinks, Madara is gone, and the hurt that stabs through his heart isn't new, yet isn't any less painful than it was the first time. Last time.

Carefully, places a lock of Madara's hair in the middle of the innermost seal. He takes off his faceguard, his worn blue armour, his impractical sandals that he distantly remembers Hashirama and Madara having a shouting match over. He sets them to the side and steps into the centre, closing his eyes to focus on the hands seals he needs to mould the chakra.

_Tiger_.

He hopes that someone will find his notes in the future, try to understand them and finish the technique that he barely started. The one he's already starting.

_Snake_.

His hands tremble minutely, and he longs for Madara's fingers to close around his, to soothe and balance his chakra like it's done before.

_Dog_.

He apologizes to Mito, and Hashirama, and even to Izuna. Tells them thank you.

_Dragon_.

Behind his shut eyelids, he feels tears gathering, the first in many, many years.

He's almost done. 

(Almost there.)

A sharp _snap_ rings out as his hands come together, and as Tobirama opens his eyes they're filled with a brilliant white light, encasing and enveloping and intense in a way Tobirama never expected--

(But he did, didn't he?)

The chakra inside him _burns_ , fiery and scorching, igniting a match that turns into a flame that turns into an inferno, blazing with heat and pain and fusing into something that _tears_ at his heart-- 

He's an idiot, Tobirama thinks, because he might describe it as love.

It takes his breath away, when the wildfire consumes him, and he's on the verge of succumbing when he sees black-red eyes and pale skin, an untamed grin emerging from the bright, bright, darkness.

_I missed you,_ Tobirama wants to say, but he's caught and captured and it _hurts_.

Madara steps towards him with the grace he didn't have when Tobirama had seen him last, broken and battered before a hundred enemies, and when he pulls Tobirama into his arms every ache ebbs away. Gently, Tobirama lets the world around him fade.

The kiss Madara presses to his lips is soft, affectionate, weary.

It's the _I love you_ he never had the chance to say, the _I'm so sorry_ he wished he didn't have to say. 

And then it's nothing at all, except a faintly charred floor and a delicate wind rustling through the dying embers.

* * *

(When Hashirama finishes the burial ceremony, heartbreak somehow dulled to a ever-present throbbing, Mito leads him back to the Senju compound and through the field of swaying poppies behind it, sorrow in her eyes but firm nonetheless. She hands him the envelope with his name painstakingly written out in full, and, as he absorbs it mutely, deactivates the wards for the last time.

Inside the wooden walls, Hashirama finds a neat pile of his brother's clothes, stacked and organized to perfection. A single braid of inky hair rests amidst a tangle of symbols and seals, untouched. There's a scattering of cinders around it, and even as he feels his heart ripped out of his chest for the second time, he smiles slightly, involuntarily, at the patterns on the ground.

The silver ashes have intertwined with the streaks of black ink, wreathed endlessly together and dispersed as if by a loving hand. At every intersection, every crossroads, they form the tiniest of hearts, a promise of _always_ repeating once, twice, forever.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: major character death, depression and suicide, aural hallucinations, SO MUCH ANGST
> 
> Disclaimer that I have absolutely not watched this far in Shippuden, and literally have zero idea as to how the Edo Tensei actually works. Anything and everything here is based off of the fandom wiki page.
> 
> (also, if it's not clear, Tobi drew the jutsu and everything _knowing_ that it would backfire and kill him. what he's writing down are all his experimental results so that someone else later on /cough orochimaru cough/ can figure out how to complete and do it successfully.)
> 
> Thank you for reading! <3
> 
> Comments are the food of the writer's soul, and always very very much appreciated :)


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